


quinate

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 5 Times, Angry Sex, Angry everything, Bad Decisions, Everyone Is So Mad All The Time, Fucking In Spaceships, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, Lovers to enemies to lovers, M/M, POV Alternating, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Sexual Content, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-25 17:10:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14383206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: “That’s okay,” Poe said. “Your worst is still pretty good.”





	quinate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perlaret](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perlaret/gifts).



I.

“I always wanted to do this.”

Poe climbed into Ben’s lap like he was meant to be there, like he’d thought a lot about the angles and trajectory of this very moment, had mapped in advance the best way to attack the problem of getting two people—one of whom was gangly, almost too tall for a starfighter to begin with now that he’d been hit with every growth spurt one person could handle and then some—to fit inside the cramped, miserly space of an A-wing’s cockpit.

“Great idea,” Ben answered. To hide the hint of aroused pleasure he felt at the thought of Poe planning this specifically, with him, in the long, dark hours of the nights between which they saw one another, he asked, “Did you waste any brain cells figuring out just how we’re going to get our pants off while you were busy daydreaming about this or did that bit escape you entirely?”

Poe pulled a frown, but he reached for the clasps of Ben’s fly with single-minded determination and the ease of close familiarity. This part, at least, wasn’t so different from normal. “I figured you’d want to keep some of your dignity in case we have to make a quick getaway,” he replied, never hesitating, not even as his hand wrapped around Ben’s cock. At that point, Poe’s facility with words no longer mattered and whatever else he had to say about Ben’s dignity was lost to the preciseness of the pressure he exerted, the catch of his calluses on Ben’s most sensitive parts in just the way Ben had always liked best. But he smiled at Ben and that managed to get through the haze of pleasure in a way Poe’s never-silent mouth couldn’t. “Next time, I’ll take your pants from you, too, Your Highness.”

When Ben tried to reach for Poe, his hand barely grazing the tops of Poe’s muscled thigh, Poe slapped at him. “I’m in charge,” he said, ringing his fingers around Ben’s wrist before pressing it to the armrest in a vice-tight grip. “My daydream, remember?”

“Yeah, but—”

Whatever Ben was going to say was lost to the ether, because Poe’s mouth crashed against his, swallowing the words before they could get past his teeth. He left Ben breathless and wanting and pinned in place and the only recourse Ben had was to grab hold of Poe by the collar of his shirt with his free hand and pull him closer because he wasn’t getting free, not this time, but he could sure as hell drag Poe down with him.

It would be clear to anyone who passed what was happening. The fogged up transparisteel was an obvious and explicit giveaway, but for once in his life, Ben couldn’t find it in himself to care.

And for once, one of Poe’s stupid, daring schemes didn’t leave him wanting to run screaming for home, the Jedi Temple, anywhere where Poe couldn’t get him into trouble. In fact, if Poe asked him to do this again, he probably would say yes despite the voice in the back of his head yelling at him that they were going to get caught and Kes Dameron was going to haul him out of here by his ears and he’d never again know what not being ashamed felt like.

Force, this felt too good to waste time thinking about things that hadn’t happened yet. His thighs tensed to the point of aching and he bucked as best he could into Poe’s touch, grunting every imprecation for Poe to _get a Force-damned move on here_ that came to mind.

As he spilled, hot, into Poe’s palm, he thought he might just agree to anything Poe asked of him whether it embarrassed him or not, even go pantsless where Kes Dameron might catch them. Poe was that kind of person; he made Ben want to do things for him. Stupid things. Ridiculous things.

Still, Poe looked far too pleased with himself when Ben got around to looking him in the eyes and that just wouldn’t do. “Any chance I can return the favor now?” he asked, droll, fighting the urge to suck in deep, desperate breaths. “Or will it ruin your vision?”

Poe snorted and shifted, making it very clear from the provocative tent of his trousers that he wasn’t unaffected by this in the slightest. Which, good. That was—something at least. “Do your worst, Jedi.”

A small, pleased smile twitched at the corner of Ben’s mouth. “I’m not a Jedi yet.”

“That’s okay,” Poe said. “Your worst is still pretty good.”

II.

Poe scrutinized every detail of his uniform in the ’fresher’s mirror, poking and tugging and smoothing every inch of fabric into place. Though he tried to work his hair into a more acceptable style, each and every curl had a mind of its own and chose the direction it wanted to go in—which, inevitably, was the direction in which Poe wanted it least to go. Even so, he looked good. Like a New Republic Navy man. Like someone who could make his mother and father proud.

This right here was what he’d worked so hard for and now it was finally becoming a reality. He was proud, beyond ecstatic. Humbled and relieved and sick at heart, too.

Every advancement required a sacrifice; this was his life now and he was leaving so much of what came before behind. All of it at once.

Kes had seen him to the spaceport, wished him well as both he and Ben boarded the passenger transport that would take them from Yavin 4 to Hosnian Prime. It was sheer luck that their travel arrangements could coincide at least this much longer, that they could spend these scant few days that remained to them together, the last either of them would share for who knew how long. It was easier before, when Poe lived on Yavin 4 and Ben regularly came back to the Great Temple with Luke to study.

Except when Ben visited his parents—which was rare and only growing rarer as the years passed—he’d never make it back to Hosnian Prime. And he certainly wouldn’t find his way to whatever base Poe ended up stationed on once he completed his training; no one could be that lucky.

A knock sounded on the door and Poe didn’t even need the Force to know it was Ben. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat to cover for the frog-like catch in his throat. In the back of his mind, a countdown timer clicked. Another moment gone. “I’m decent.”

Though Ben had no reason to be surprised, his eyes widened as their gazes caught each other’s in the mirror. “I’d—say your more than that,” he settled on, almost smooth. And then, he ruined it. “Wow.”

But Poe didn’t mind. “Like what you see?”

Anyone else probably would have played along, played it up, but in some respects, Ben was honest to a fault and Poe knew better than to expect frivolous flirtations and meaningless words at a moment like this, with how intently Ben was looking at him. “Yes,” Ben took the hem of his uniform jacket between his fingertips. “I do.”

Poe couldn’t help the tingling, quicksilver cascade of amusement and arousal he felt. Such a simple declaration. Enough to undo all the work he’d put into making himself presentable.

Ben always had been a bad influence on him. As such, it felt right that one of their last acts together was a bit of inappropriate debauchery in a ’fresher bathroom on a grimy transport.

But it was fun.

And if Poe were a more sentimental man—later, when he truly grew up, hindsight would kick him in the teeth, laugh uproariously at his naïveté and his assumptions about the generosity the universe bestowed upon its inhabitants—here was where he would have said _I love you_ and _we’ll stay in touch_ and _come visit, please_.

Some part of him thought Ben knew it, thought they would have all the time in the world to work it out even if they didn’t. Even with half the galaxy between them, they’d always be entwined.

Poe, too sentimental and not sentimental enough, was a fool. He just didn’t know it yet.

Maybe things would have been different if Ben had known.

III.

They didn’t fuck on the _Finalizer_.

Neither of them even thought of the possibility, too focused on their own goals to consider it. They hated each other too much, in fact, to think of anything but the wholesale slaughter of everything the other stood for. The fact that they hadn’t seen one another since they left one another behind on Hosnian Prime didn’t even register. For either of them. Poe Dameron had information vital to the First Order. And Kylo Ren was a murderous fallen Jedi who was perfectly happy to torture an answer out of him.

This late in the game, they had in them no room for compassion.

 _Damn you for not being stronger,_ Poe thought as Kylo Ren tore the soul out of him without so much of a touch of his gloved hand against Poe’s skin _._ For the price of a few words, a scant tidbit of information, Poe shattered and gave up the one thing he’d promised himself he’d never betray. The pettiest parts of him hoped it was worth it, that Kylo had heard every hateful thought Poe harbored about him while he rifled through Poe’s mind for that tiny bit of gold.

The better parts knew he’d sweep the pieces of himself up and glue them all back together into a near perfect facsimile of himself. He had to. There was nothing else.

Later, whatever he became once those mosaic tiles found their place in his psyche, he would find a way to pay Ren back.

In return were Kylo’s thoughts, _damn you for being so stubborn_ , a faint sliver of regret mingling with needs and desires he’d long ago buried, knowing them for the weaknesses they were. He left the shards of Poe’s mind within easy reach of Poe’s determination. It was folly to do so; he could so easily have left Poe a gibbering mess instead and been safer for it.

But.

He couldn’t.

One day he would, but not today.

Later, though…

They didn’t fuck on the _Finalizer_ , but let it be never be said that they were people unfamiliar with traitorous thoughts.

IV.

“I really didn’t think you’d go for this,” Poe said, brushing his fingers over the various consoles. Everything was sleek and black, clean lines and zero clutter. As far as shuttles went, it wasn’t the worst Poe had seen. “Guess that shows what I know, right?” He kept his tone casual, disdainful. No doubt Ren could sense Poe’s fury, his fear. He’d been in Poe’s head in more ways than one. The only scrap of control Poe could assert here was with his mouth and he made himself sound cold and assertive, unafraid. And so he did. For his own satisfaction if for no other reason.

“I guess so,” Ren answered, affect flat, far flatter than Poe remembered even with the vocoder in Ren’s helmet to do the work of masking Ren’s voice for him. “For what it’s worth, I’m not even sure why you’re here. Maybe I’m just curious.”

“Your mother,” Poe answered, viciously pleased to see Ren flinch, “still gives a shit about you.”

“My mother wants me to wipe out my own troops for her,” he answered, virulently bitter. “I’m not going to fall to my knees in gratitude.”

Poe rolled his eyes and slid an intent look his way. It turned his stomach, but the innuendo-laden glance did something to Ren: it made him stiffen up, take a step back, narrow his eyes. “If only you would,” Poe said, in the hopes that it would jog Ren’s memory a bit. Poe had first-hand experience with Kylo doing just that once upon a time. For Poe. And not just once. If nothing else, it was worth it for the uncertain twist of Ren’s mouth. Supreme Leader of the entire First Order’s troops, its armada, and he didn’t quite know what to do with the reminder of who he’d once been to Poe. What they’d done together.

Frankly, Poe didn’t like to think too much about it either, but he didn’t have the luxury of the Force to fall back on. He couldn’t stop a blaster bolt with a thought.

The only weapon he had was his tongue and their history.

That wasn’t why Leia had let him come here, but it was why Poe had volunteered.

He was the only one who stood a chance of relaying this message and getting out alive.

“Why are _you_ here?” And this time, Ren must’ve dredged up some courage from somewhere, because he strode forward and backed Poe against the consoles. The shuttle was in low-power mode and Poe was so very grateful for that because otherwise his practically sitting on some of the buttons might’ve launched them right into the planet’s surface below. He was close enough now that all Poe had to do was lean forward and hope for the best.

There were a lot of reasons why Poe had agreed to this. Someone had to do it. Poe wanted to do it. It was for the good of the Resistance. All of those were true. Yet at the same time, all of them were not. He held Ren’s angry, heated gaze because he wasn’t a coward and he lifted his chin for the same reason and he dared to touch the back of Ren’s gloved hand where it now bracketed Poe’s hip because he wanted to. “I needed to see who you’d become,” was what he finally admitted, the only thing that Ren might believe would make a face-to-face meet required. Face-to-literal-face. The _Finalizer_ didn’t count. Kylo Ren could still hide back then.

It was more of the truth than he’d spoken out loud in a long time; it didn’t feel good at all, nor freeing. But vindication surged inside of him at the moment of shattered agony that flickered and died in Ren’s gaze, shuttered almost immediately, but not quickly enough that Poe couldn’t see that he’d struck true.

Poe tilted his head; he drew in close, willing to burn himself on this particular flame. “How much of you is really left in there?”

Ren didn’t pull away.

So Poe made the stupid call. He fisted his hand in Ren’s collar and pulled him into a searing kiss. His teeth clacked against Ren’s and he tasted blood where he bit the soft curve of Ren’s lip. His thumb and forefinger pressed hard into the leather and wool that made up Ren’s armor and as though the natural laws of the universe itself wished for Poe’s success, a chime rang out.

Time was up. He’d made his offer.

“We’re ready to begin data transfer,” Poe said, slipping out from beneath Ren’s bulk. He took a few deep breaths and willed himself to calm down. His heart raced and not only because he was here with his worst enemy, who might just decide to kill him right here and now.

He hadn’t kissed anyone since Ben. And now, it seemed, Kylo Ren.

In this one way, they were almost the same.

“As soon as I’m back to my ship, I’ll transmit our intel. Good luck cleaning up your nasty little nest of conspirators.”

“And what if I don’t let you go?”

Poe forced himself to shrug. “You figure out for yourself just who’s trying to kill you or maybe you change your ways and the people you are purported to lead will suddenly stop trying to murder you. Makes no difference to me.”

“I could just rip it from your mind.”

“That’s the beauty of this arrangement.” Poe grinned and threw his arms wide. “I don’t know any of it. You could rip everything from me—” _And you have_. “—and it wouldn’t make a damned bit of difference.”

“Knowing might be enough.”

“Take that chance,” Poe said, crossing his arms, leaning away from Ren. The thought of never making it back to base made Poe’s throat tighten up, but he wouldn’t let Ren win. Not like this. If he was going to die today, it would be with mocking words in his mouth and contempt in his heart.

Ren had already done his worst to Poe. Whatever came now was nothing next to that. And if Poe didn’t return, the Resistance had learned a whole lot about the value of mobility since Starkiller, since D’Qar and the _Supremacy_ and Crait. 

The Resistance would be safe whether Poe made it home or not.

Ren flicked his hand through the air, too sharp to be careless. “Go.”

They were docked on an abandoned shuttle depot in the middle of uncharted space and no one would ever know what happened here.

Poe had never in his life felt quite so accomplished. Ren had never been a fool, not exactly, but it looked like he still had a blindspot or two.

If the tracker he stuck on Ren’s collar lasted even a day, it would be worth it for the intel it offered to the Resistance in turn.

And if Poe saved Leia from the heartache of losing her son to his own arrogant mistakes, then that was worth it, too. One good turn deserved another. Poe had seen the footage they’d caught of the battle after the evacuation of D’Qar. He knew that Ren hadn’t taken the shot that almost killed Leia. And he knew with equal certainty that he could have. That meant something, even if it wasn’t what Poe wanted.

And if this was Poe’s way of saying goodbye, well.

It was good to have closure, wasn’t it?

That was what he told himself anyway.

V.

Kylo woke with a splitting headache, alarms screeching in his ears, and a cool, droid voice informing him that there was _a breach, warning, the access bay is compromised, warning, emergency self-destruct in—_

“Override,” he called out, curt and annoyed. His midsection hurt and his shoulders and the rest of him would soon follow and now, now his ship was trying to kill him, too, as though the entire rest of the universe wasn’t doing a good enough job. If anyone could get a lucky shot, it was Poe, but the fact that he had to get one here and now? When victory was so very close? Over the comms, he heard transmission after transmission that alerted him to the inevitable.

And he wasn’t there.

No. Instead, he had Poe fucking Dameron compromising his fucking access bay instead. Because he couldn’t help it. Because he had to get his man, didn’t he, Poe’s X-wing a temptation too great to pass up? And here, he’d been gotten instead. How had they even known the First Order’s only remaining fleet would be here? It’s not like they had tracking capabi—

 _Fuck_.

He pushed himself to his feet and fought the nausea that swished and lapped up his midsection, matching the way his thoughts and vision swam in agonizing counterpoint. He’d feel better in a minute. He would. Until then he had—

“Hello, Ren,” Poe said in the open access bay. Outside, it was icy and Poe’s cheeks were red from the temperature and his exertion and his victoriously lucky shot. In his hand, he held a blaster. Kylo almost laughed at him. What good would a blaster do? Poe already knew that he could stop a bolt of laser fire. “Long time no see.”

“You’re looking good,” Kylo answered, biting, pissed. It’d been months since Poe’s stupid stunt on that abandoned station and yet he still remembered the feel of Poe’s lips against his, the bite of his teeth, the press of his body. Every time he saw Poe, Poe only seemed more beautiful, more righteously, indignantly perfect. “For a traitor who’ll soon find himself permanently in First Order custody.”

“We’ll see about that,” Poe answered, voice rich with bravado. “Meantime, what do you say we keep it civil? You stay over there. I’ll stay over here. And we’ll both pretend I’m not five seconds from shooting you in the face.”

“I have a better idea.” Twisting his hand, Kylo tore the blaster from Poe’s hand with the Force. In his own defense, Poe didn’t seem the least bit surprised. Over the comms, he heard a scream and another and another. With a more measured flick of his wrist, the comms went quiet. He reached for his lightsaber and drew it free from his belt. He didn’t ignite it, not yet, but he liked the fear he saw in Poe’s eyes, the way he fought against that fear, too. Today, he mastered it far more quickly than anyone else Kylo had ever been this close to in a long, long time. It was impressive. But Poe’d always been impressive.

Poe sneered then, his scorn etched deep into every inch of him. Each arch and shadow of his body showed his loathing and that just goaded Kylo forward. He would earn this hatred for as long as he continued to draw breath. Then Poe blinked and his mien shifted and he was something else altogether. Instead of fear or mastery, he found himself face to face with wide eyes and an open, smirking mouth.

He was incandescent; he was brilliant; he was the one worthy of Kylo’s fear.

Poe Dameron had nothing left to lose.

“I know you, Kylo Ren,” Poe said. “I know exactly what you are. Aren’t you tired of it?” He held his thumb and forefinger scant centimeters apart. “Isn’t there even a tiny sliver of you that wants to let this all go?” He leaned back against the bulkhead and crossed his arms. “Let’s just sit this one out.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

Poe’s grin was so sharp it practically cut his face in two. Kylo almost expected blood to fall from his lips. “I was told to follow you. I thought that meant up there.” He wagged his finger toward the heavens. “I didn’t know it would be quite that easy to shoot you down. I’ve done my part.”

It was a cheap shot and if Poe’s goal was to anger Kylo, it worked. His frustration, already simmering, boiled over and before he knew it, he was in Poe’s space. His lightsaber clattered to the floor and so did the blaster and his hands were on Poe’s shoulders and Poe’s eyes were flashing and Poe was right. He was sick of this. He wanted to let go. “Once we win,” he said, searching Poe’s gaze, “this will be done.” And he could do everything Poe suggested and more. Sit it out, let it go. “It won’t matter anymore.”

He felt change in the ripples of the Force, the surge and shift of the galaxy at war with itself around them, the final death throes of an entire way of life. “Not long now,” he added.

“We’ll see,” Poe said, easy. But that easiness was a lie that his eyes gave away. He was furious and he had every reason to be. His little Rebellion, his entire life, would shortly be forfeit. Perhaps he felt it, too, knew his work to be the fool’s errand it always had been. Would he be terrified to know it was all for nothing when his braggadocio failed? Or was he so blind to the truth, believed so much in his fellow Rebels, that he didn’t truly know what was happening?

So much for having nothing left to lose. Kylo could shake the bluster free of Poe’s shoulders if he wanted to.

Kylo felt more than fear now, a charge in the air that had nothing at all to do with the First Order’s inevitable victory. For a moment, he didn’t recognize it for what it was. The heat of desire had become so foreign to him all these long years. He’d not wanted anything except to ensure he could remake the galaxy in his own image in so long. His stomach flipped and his heart beat in sluggish, potent throbs. The rhythmic swishing sound of his blood in his ears was almost, almost soothing. That, at least, was familiar.

His lips tingled like Poe had kissed him months, years, lifetimes ago and it wasn’t just the memory of kisses seared into his thoughts that made him feel this now. No, it was Poe. Right here, too.

Poe’s eyes dropped to his mouth and there was something like acceptance in his eyes, need, anger, so much anger. It was like he knew what Kylo was thinking and something in him snapped at the realization. There wasn’t a lot of room in the Silencer. If Kylo backed up, he’d be in the chair again and Poe seemed to know that truth instinctively. Though the smile he wore was laconic, his words were anything but, “You could have been so much more than this. How does that feel?”

He pushed at Kylo’s shoulders, placed one hand on Kylo’s sternum. Kylo had the power of the Force at his fingertips, but he didn’t even think to use it here. He just—let himself be guided back to the cockpit, curious and turned on and stunned. It would harm nothing to see this through to the end, would it? He’d won. Nothing Poe could do would hurt him now.

“I’ve hated you twice as long as I ever loved you,” Poe said, feigning a conversational tone. His words slipped between Kylo’s ribs and pierced his heart with ease regardless. “And I still can’t stop myself from thinking, ‘maybe.’”

“Maybe wh—”

Poe gave him a final shove into the pilot’s seat and leaned in, his hands on either side of the chair. “You’re going to lose. Today, tomorrow. Ten years from now. It doesn’t matter. You’re going to lose and when you do, I hope you know that nothing in this stars-damned universe will make me happier.”

Kylo tried to reach for him, but Poe was too quick, slapping his hand away.

“Maybe we can pretend for five minutes you’re not the piece of shit you’ve turned into. And maybe I can be selfish. And maybe after that I’ll remember, presuming we do win, the General wouldn’t appreciate me trying to kill you before you’ve paid your dues.” Removing his gloves, he tugged at the snaps and latches on his flight suit.

“You won’t,” Kylo said, quiet, “win.” _You won’t kill me. You can’t. And you can’t forget either. What the hell can you do, Poe?_

“You keep saying that.” Poe tsked and shook his head and kicked Kylo’s legs apart to stand between them. “Nothing the First Order has thrown at us has stuck. We’ve destroyed planet killers and dreadnoughts and everything in between with inferior forces, fewer credits, and zero resources. What makes you think we won’t eventually get you? What makes you think this right here isn’t the First Order’s final moments? What have we done that makes you think we’ll fail?”

Kylo felt himself harden as Poe’s hands moved to his face, his fingers digging into Kylo’s chin, his jaw. He tilted Kylo’s head just so and Kylo let him, wasn’t sure he knew how to stop him. It was what he’d wanted for so long, ever since the _Finalizer_ and even before that. It was the only thing he’d ever known he’d wanted, no strings, no hesitation. It was the purest thing Kylo knew, Poe’s touch. Agonizing though it might have been, it was uncomplicated, untainted.

Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order’s forces, master of the Knights of Ren, should have struck out, snapped Poe’s neck for his daring, put an end to this weakness of his once and for all.

That last, impossible flicker of fear in Poe’s eyes receded and mocking triumph replaced it. “You’re pathetic,” he said, just before his hands slid to his neck, cradling the back of his head as he kissed Kylo hard on the mouth. His tongue slipped between Kylo’s teeth and found a rhythm Kylo’d thought long forgotten. But they easily fell into the one pattern that had ever kept Kylo truly sane back when he’d fought so much of himself and his true nature and—though he hadn’t known it—Snoke’s manipulations.

For a moment, he did exactly what Poe wanted: he forgot. And in that moment, he reached again for Poe and this time Poe didn’t deny him. When he grabbed for the belt loops of his flight suit, Poe let him. And when he worked his hand into Poe’s pants and underwear, barely taking the time to unhook the fly, Poe didn’t stop him. No, in fact, Poe climbed into his lap, his knees trapped awkwardly between the armrests and the back of the chair and Kylo’s bulk.

His weight settled, comfortable, across Kylo’s thighs, warm and welcome and everything he should have had all along and he laughed, mean, when Kylo groaned and shifted, pushing up into it as best he could, pinned though he was. But Poe didn’t stop kissing him and he didn’t stop touching him, his palms unexpectedly gentle against the back of his head, his thighs warm and comforting on either side of Kylo’s. Even while the rest of him strung itself tight like a bow preparing to loose itself into the nearest target, pain and death certain to follow, he was gentle.

By the time Poe broke the kiss, they were both panting and sweating. The air was close, humid, and the mingled tang of arousal and adrenaline filled Kylo’s nostrils. Whether because Poe didn’t want to look at him or merely because he wanted to, Poe ducked his head and kissed and bit along Kylo’s jaw, following the line of Kylo’s scar all the way to his neck.

He sucked a mark into Kylo’s skin, pushed aside as much of Kylo’s own flight suit as possible and sucked another one against Kylo’s clavicle as Kylo hissed, pain shooting through him to mingle with his arousal, heightening both.

There wasn’t enough friction for him to do more than drive himself crazy as Poe ground against him, as Kylo pumped Poe in nearly perfect counterpoint. No matter what Poe did, it wasn’t enough, and Kylo wondered if that was purposeful, if he was doing this to punish Kylo.

“Fuck,” Kylo said.

“Yeah, that’s kind of the—” Poe groaned, shutting himself up for once in his life. “—point.”

Kylo gripped Poe tighter, rubbed his thumb over the head of Poe’s cock, teased at the slit, happy that at least in this one way Poe was still predictable. He groaned again, and braced himself against Kylo, tucking his head against Kylo’s neck. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”

Poe stilled, quieting, and shuddered. And that somehow was enough to push Kylo over the edge, too. Every ounce of frustration and pleasure he felt gathered itself up and expended itself in one short burst, one he wished he could draw out and savor, though of course it Drawing in a ragged breath, Kylo swore and rested his head against the back of his chair. He wiped his hand against the armrest as subtly as he could and fought back a grimace.

Without the rush of the moment, he felt cold, foolish. He sensed Poe’s roiling emotions in the Force, too, but refused to prod too closely at those. For once, he didn’t want to know what was in Poe’s head. He, too, didn’t want to think about the stickiness now cooling between his legs.

But if this was a mistake, they were in it together.

Poe breathed in deeply and began righting himself. “F—” His comm chirped in the pocket of his flight suit and before he could silence it, Kylo heard shouts. Shouts of victory. Shouts of joy. Laughter. So much laughter.

His troops wouldn’t be laughing, not even if they held the universe in their palms.

Sitting back, heavy, Poe brushed his hand across his open mouth, fumbled his comm from his pocket and stared at it. Kylo didn’t move and he didn’t push Poe’s weight from his thighs.

“Look at that,” Poe said, his anger and righteous fury reasserting itself. It was like they hadn’t even done this, that Kylo was nothing to him, that he truly had nothing in the entire galaxy left to fear. And maybe he didn’t. Who needed bravery in the midst of victory? He slapped the back of his hand against Kylo’s chest and climbed out of Kylo’s lap. “What was it you were saying before? About winning?”

“I…”

Poe’s eyes narrowed as he waited. He took a few steps back, still waiting. He bent and retrieved his blaster, training it on Kylo despite them both knowing the potential for futility.

There was silence for a scant second, an eternity.

“Fuck, Ben! It’s over,” Poe finally shouted when Kylo said nothing, startling the both of them if Poe’s wide eyes were anything to go by, like he hadn’t meant to call Kylo that, like he hadn’t meant to react at all. He lowered his voice. “It’s fucking over, okay? Let it go.”

Kylo reached for the one thing that had propelled him through his life since that day back at the temple when he’d learned that his uncle, his own family, feared him, taught him that he was too powerful to remain alive. He’d seen that he had nothing, that he was nothing.

All he had from then on was himself and the darkness that marked him as a cause too lost to save.

He couldn’t find it. He couldn’t find any of it.

He had his rage; that stormed through him still, trampling his heart and everything else in its path. He had his regret and shame and despair. He was still himself and he was still Kylo Ren and he had a millennium’s worth of exhaustion weighing him down, but it was different now. It wasn’t inevitable. “I want to,” he admitted, unable to look up at Poe.

But nothing in the universe seemed harder than that. Letting go. The thought of doing so opened a gaping chasm inside of him. Without this, what was he? Who was he?

Whatever it was, Poe wasn’t interested. He spat his answer, sneering as he stowed his blaster, which… at least he did that much. They wouldn’t have to fight. Kylo wouldn’t have to kill him. Not like this, not as the last sacrifice in a war he’d apparently lost. “Then do it,” he said. “Be like the rest of us who have to get on with our lives after we’ve done bad things. Do better. Be better.”

Kylo thought about it.

And the part of him that was still Ben Solo sighed in response.

And something in Poe unfurled, something that Kylo hadn’t witnessed for himself in a long, long time, but Ben remembered well.

Hope.

“All you have to do is say the word,” Poe pushed. “Say the damned word, Ben.”

So Ben did.


End file.
